


lies bleed

by vickydd



Series: don't forget to wipe the blood off your lips [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Derek-centric, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Season/Series 02, Stiles isn't taking any of Derek's shit, Werewolves, derek is bad at feels, part 2 of i dug deeper at the part of derek that thinks its okay to seduce 15-year-old Erica, set somewhere in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:23:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vickydd/pseuds/vickydd
Summary: Stiles still hasn’t decided how to tell Scott.Where does he even begin on that, anyway?  What is best friend procedure for I got conned by your sort of archenemies who isn’t Peter, and he bit me ’cause I was desperate to get laid, and now I don’t feel as werewolfy as I think I should.'Hey, you know the guy we both hate cause he tried to kill Lydia and is an overall creeper? Well, I let him seduce me, lost a semblance of my v-card with him, and then he bit me. And not like bit me sexy or in the ass like a pain – no. Like a fucking werewolf bite. I’ve officially joined the club, hip hip hurray! Hope I don’t turn into a fucking snake like Jackson. That would be bad. I also hope I don’t die. That would be worse.'Yeah, no.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OMG! the response for irony bites was so positive and you guys were so sweet and you all asked for more so here it is!  
> You can probably not read this as stand alone, I don't know, I haven't tried, so go press back on the little part of a series thing =)  
> know that i most definitely have fucked up the season 2 verse but it's okay, just find a place where all these character could make sense together that isn't before Scott agrees to be Derek's pack. You'll be fine.  
> Also, there will definitely be one more installation to this series (do you guys like the name haha i thought i was clever you guys will see) and that might take time but it shall happen, muahahahaha 
> 
> from the feedback i got I kept a lot of your ideas in mind and i hope you all like it =) No beta, so all mistakes are mine

Derek doesn’t look back, but he hears the crash and shatter of something breaking. He hears the noise a fist makes when it connects with a hard surface.

He keeps running.

 

On his hands and feet, it doesn’t take long for him to reach the abandoned train station. He reverts back to human and heads to the bathroom. He walks across the foyer, across his room and the make do kitchen, but he doesn’t see any of it. None of his senses feel like they’re working.

He feels power running through his veins – huge surges ready to be taken, just at his fingertips – and he hates it.  He can feel the glow of his eyes, and he hates that, too.

He’s forgotten his shirt, so he just turns on the sink and splashes some water on his face, not caring that his entire floor is getting a shower too.

A knock startles him, and he can’t stop a hiss from escaping between his lips. Glancing towards the door, he feels stupid for getting so shocked.

Erica leans on the left side of the open doorway, gaze scrutinizing and body language shameless, albeit a little amused.

Derek glares at her as he allows his pulse to settle once more.

“Your eyes are red,” she notes, pointing out the obvious.

Derek’s glare hardens.

“And, you know that. . .” Erica mutters under her breath.

She does a little eye roll, and drops her head down onto her chest, looking tired. Her arms are crossed and, while still flawless, it’s obvious the girl is stressed.

Derek turns back to the mirror, and tries to clear the red. He can’t.

Erica doesn’t seem like she’s leaving anytime soon, but her nose scrunches up curiously in his peripheral vison.

 _Shit_.

“Why do you smell like Stiles?” she asks, interest glinting in her features.

“None of your business,” Derek snaps, clenching his fists on the sink and grinding his teeth to keep from growling at her. His senses have come back in full now, and his hair feels on end.

He practically feels her start making assumptions.

The girl gasps, a half laugh and half cry of horror. “No way – that _smell_. You were at Stilinski’s, and you two were doing it. Oh my—”

“Erica.”

“—god, of course. That’s where you’ve been. Screwing—”

“ _Erica_.”

“— _Stilinski_. Does Scott know? He doesn’t, does he? Wow, I knew you were a dick, Derek, but I didn’t think you actually went for teenagers, no wonder you weren’t into it when I—”

“ERICA!”

The girl stops midsentence, seeming to realize she’d let her mouth get away from her. It snaps close with a swallow and she takes a step back from Derek, fearful. Derek is towering over her, inches away, eyes red and fangs extended.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, and Derek breathes out, closing his eyes and stepping away slightly.

The girl’s relief is clear as day, but she finds something on Derek’s face and moves forwards, eyes narrowing curiously.

“Derek,” she says, voice airy. There is something off about it, but Derek can’t smell anything beyond her previous fear. “Is that – is that blood?”

Derek’s hand comes up to cover the corner of his mouth in an instant, stomach churning and eyes widening guiltily. They aren’t red anymore, he feels the burn go away.

It doesn’t do anything to change how ashamed and out of control he feels.

Erica’s hand joins his gently, moving it out of the way. Nostrils flaring, her eyes focus for a couple seconds before flashing up to meet his. “It is.”

He flinches away from her touch, eyes glued to the floor.

“Derek. . .you didn’t, did you?” she asks, tentatively. Derek hates that the hope in her voice, the hope that he isn’t really so bad, evaporates with her next words.

“You _bit_ him?” she exclaims, stepping back. Her heart is racing, but suddenly Derek can’t hear it over the sound of his own hammering in his chest.

Derek’s eyes bleed red, and he pushes past her, nearly running.

“Derek!” she yells, sounding worried– scared.

He ignores her, grabs his phone, a jacket and shirt, his wallet, and rushes out of there.

 

The Hale house isn’t safe, but he ends up there anyway.

Maybe he deserves this, he thinks. Maybe everything awful that has happened to him is only fair, and he deserves what Kate, his uncle, the Alphas, did to him.

One thing he knows for certain – Stiles didn’t deserve what Derek did to him. In fact, Stiles didn’t deserve anything that Derek or anyone else had put him through since he’d found _out_ about werewolves.

And yet, Derek had done it anyway.

He licks Stiles’s blood off his lips and tries to brush off how much he doesn’t hate the taste.

 

When he wakes, he has some semblance of a formed plan.

Confront Stiles, confront his pack, and then, confront Scott.

After all, it’s not like he burned down anyone’s family, did he? They’ll forgive him.

Teenagers are easy.

Derek swallows.

 

Through the classroom window, Derek can see that Stiles is wearing an ugly orange scarf around his neck, and his hackles rise as he listens in to Jackson making fun of him for it.

He spies the tip of a bandage under the scarf, and his stomach clenches. His eyes sharpen involuntarily, and he shakes his head to get himself under control. _Human_.

Maybe he can confront Stiles after he confronts his pack, he decides.

 _This is my fault_ , he thinks. And he hates himself for it.

Peter would be proud. Hell, Kate would be too.

He vomits into the bushes outside the school, and ignores the red of his eyes.

 

Stiles’s entire body aches.

He hears across the distance of the room, but he has a headache that won’t let him decipher a single sound. His eyes sharpen whenever he focuses, but they burn so badly he knows there are tear tracks on his cheeks just from trying to read earlier. His wound is itchy and annoys him every step he takes. His whole left side aches. He wants to rip off the bandage and let the bite breathe, but knows he can’t.

He still hasn’t decided how to tell Scott.

Where does he even begin on that, anyway?  What is best friend procedure for I got conned by your sort of archenemies who isn’t Peter, and he bit me ’cause I was desperate to get laid, and now I don’t feel as werewolfy as I think I should.

_Hey, you know the guy we both hate cause he tried to kill Lydia and is an overall creeper? Well, I let him seduce me, lost a semblance of my v-card with him, and then he bit me. And not like bit me sexy or in the ass like a pain – no. Like a fucking werewolf bite. I’ve officially joined the club, hip hip hurray! Hope I don’t turn into a fucking snake like Jackson. That would be bad. I also hope I don’t die. That would be worse._

Yeah, no.

Stiles was still working on it, okay? And this fucking headache was not helping.

 

He gets home and showers. He skipped lacrosse, for obvious reasons, and his injury has been stinging all day, so he’s relieved to be able to alleviate some of the pain. Maybe all he needs is a nice warm shower and a long nap. Yeah.

He doesn’t even check the bite before stepping under the stream of steaming water, just takes off the bandage and steps into the warmth. He’s so oblivious to everything but relaxation that it comes as a shock when he is drying off and the towel is dyed black.

He looks around. Did he spill something? He looks into the shower. There’s nothing there.

He feels an intense and nearly painful itch in his gums, and he turns to look at the mirror, disoriented.

His eyes are gold, teeth elongated in his open mouth. He expects more to the transformation, but that’s as far as it goes before his gums are burning, his eyesight is stinging and he’s shaking uncontrollably.

He puts his hands up to support his neck and feels something sticky.

He peeks through his closed eyes at his finger tips and trips backwards in a silent scream, smacking into the towel rack and slipping onto the bathroom floor.

He’s covered in blood.

 _Black_ blood.

 

Derek should not be close enough to hear Stiles’s gasps for breath. He should not be close enough to recognize it as the panic attack it is, and shouldn’t be jumping up and through the window at full speed, all of his instincts on high alert.

But that’s what he does, and his heart nearly stops at what he finds.

 

Stiles wraps the blackened towel around his waist in a state of shock, speed walking into his room.

He can feel liquid dripping down his back, but he knows it’s not the water he didn’t dry from his hair.

Water doesn’t stain the floor.

Water doesn’t make him dizzy from blood loss.

 

Black blood.

Stiles is covered in it.

_Paige was covered in it. Paige was covered in it and she died. Derek killed her._

Derek killed Stiles.

_He’s not dead yet._

The boy’s entire chest and towel seem to be oozing, but Derek’s eyes focus on the bleeding wound on Stiles’s neck and he nearly sobs.

Derek’s done it again.

 

Stiles flinches when he sees Derek, but his eyes are watering from how much they burn and his nostrils are flaring in pain with each breath of fresh air, and his neck is aching so much he feels like collapsing.

It’s kind of a surprise when he actually does.

He doesn’t hit the floor – no, Derek’s there for that.

Despicable, betraying, and deceiving Derek, who seeing would probably make Stiles burst into ugly tears if he wasn’t in so much pain already.

“Let . . .go of me,” Stiles tries to growl, feeling his golden eyes flare with another wave of pain that just makes him more of a rag doll in Derek’s arms.

He can no longer feel his body, just a resounding ache. He loses control of his limbs, and then he really falls.

Derek lifts him up, Stiles’s head rolling onto the werewolf’s unfairly built shoulder, and Stiles’s world is fading into black.

Black blood.

He can feel Derek moving him, fresh air that means they’re leaving his house.

“I’m sorry,” he hears, but his world has already gone darker that the blood dripping from his neck, and he’s gone.

 

By luck that Derek doesn’t know was possible for him, Deaton’s still at his office when they get there.

Lifting Stiles out of the Camaro (which he used to violate every traffic on the way here) and knocking roughly on the door with one hand, Derek can feel his façade dripping away.

There are tears in his eyes, tears he tries to burn away by flashing them red, but to no avail.

_He’s done it again. He’s done it again._

This time, his mom won’t be there. She won’t be able to help him, to _fix_ him. 

There’s no answer on the door, so he pushes till the lock bursts and make his way inside.

Thank god, Scott is not there, Derek thinks absentmindedly. The thought makes him want to laugh in a hysteric way.

“We’re closed!” he hears, followed by loud stomps towards the reception area. Deaton’s eyes widen when he sees him though. Deaton sees Stiles, see the blood, and he cuts through the Mountain Ash barrier to let Derek through in an instant.

He goes, and Deaton practically throws half the contents off an examination table to the floor in his hurry, quiet and focused.

Derek puts Stiles down, and adjusts the wet and stained towel around his waist so that he’s decent.  

Tries to forget he’s seen it all before. Touched it. His eyes burn red and he closes them.

“How long ago?” Deaton asks, casual like, focused.

Derek wants to rip his throat out, but on autopilot, he growls, “Last night,” unable to control himself. His eyes are still red, he notices when he sees his reflection on the window.

Not pausing from where he seems to be looking for something, Deaton speaks, “If you cannot control yourself, I will have to ask you to leave.”

His anger flares, but Derek brings his fangs back instantly, relieved he was able to.

He has to stay with Stiles.

_He can’t be like Paige. He can’t._

Deaton stops abruptly and leaves to another room.

“Where are you going?” Derek demands, impatient. Stiles’s pulse is already so weak. He doesn’t have enough time.  It’s not like with her, when she was fully conscious of the pain.

 _Something else is wrong_ , his brain supplies, and he clenches his fists.

_You fucked up somehow, when you bit him._

Deaton doesn’t answer, but returns with a blue and orange device in his hand. Without hesitating, the vet plunges it into Stiles’s thigh.

“Epi pen,” he explains. “Should stop the spread for a little bit.”

The man goes back to his previous arranging of ornaments, but stops short after a few seconds, shoulders stiffening.

“What?” Derek asks.

“I – I won’t be able to do much,” Deaton sighs, sounding defeated. “You’ve pretty much infected him with a poison, and as much as I know about werewolves, there is no known cure for this particular venom. He has to go to the hospital as soon as possible.”

“Will he die?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

Deaton stalls, taking Stiles’s temperature and looking for other vitals. “It’s very likely.”

“Don’t tell Scott,” escapes him immediately, and the vet pauses in his actions, infuriatingly calm when he turns to look at him.

“That his best friend is dying? Or that you were the one who bit him?”

Derek studies the gauze Deaton has taped onto Stiles’s neck. The faint outline of love bites that still mar the boy’s chest. “None of it.”

He doesn’t think Deaton will agree, but the man purses his lips and his nod is miniscule. He finishes cleaning Stiles off and taking his vitals. “The Hospital, Derek. He doesn’t have much time.”

Derek’s already grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Okay.”

He lifts Stiles again, cradles him in his arms and starts towards the exit. He should say thank you, but he doesn’t.

Deaton speaks abruptly. “Derek,” he calls.

“What?” he snaps, not turning around to face him.

“There will be questions.”

“I don’t care.”

Deaton doesn’t seem to have an answer to that.

Derek leaves.

 

He hadn’t wanted to leave Stiles in the ER and then rush off, but he caught his red eyes and elongated claws in the reflection of a hospital window and bolted back to his Camaro. It’s probably because of the lack of questions and smoothness of his dropping Stiles off that it happens.

By it, he means Peter.

The recently brought back to life werewolf sits in the front seat of Derek’s Camaro, looking impatient. “What are you doing here?” Derek asks, instead of “How did you get in the car?” or “Why do you always know when the worst time to make an appearance is?”

Peter smirks, and if possible, makes himself look more at home in Derek’s car. “Making sure you don’t mess this up more than you already have.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek grunts, tired, oh so tired. He leans across Peter to open the passenger door for him, gesturing that the werewolf go take a hike.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Drop the act, Derek. I already had quite the pleasant chat with your little blonde.”

“What did you do to Erica?” he growls, chest expanding. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with Stiles. . . how Stiles was.

“Nothing, nothing,” his uncle says, sounding like the asshole he is. “Merely gossiped. Had a bite. Not of her, of course. But you should know about having a bite or two.” Peter pauses, blue eyes like ice in Derek’s gaze. “Is this the fifth teenager you’ve managed to sink your fangs into this month? My, my, Derek, really—”

Derek grabs at Peter by his throat, and ignoring the awkward angle, holds him tight against his seat. “Get out.”

Derek lets go of him roughly, a push to leave, and his uncle’s eyes flare blue momentarily. He brushes himself off and uses the door Derek had so kindly opened for him already. “Oh,” he says, voice sore. “So you don’t care if the boy lives or dies then.”

Like flipping a switch, Peter’s words ignited something in him. Derek lunges across the seat to grab at his uncle’s forearm.

“What do you know?” he asks, and tries to sound like he’s not begging. Peter’s smile says he doesn’t buy it, but the man shrugs his hand out of Derek’s now loose hold.

“Just a myth,” Peter replies.

“Peter.”

“Derek.”

“What do you want?” Derek asks, and if Peter’s swallow is anything to go by, the man knows he isn’t joking.

“What do I always want, Derek?” Peter sits back down and closes the door, facing him fully. “Power.” His eyes glow, and its Derek’s turn to swallow.

“No,” he says, but the word feels sickly in his stomach, and the sound of Stiles faint heartbeat from earlier haunts him.

Another eye roll. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek asks, and the feeling of dread only grows.

Peter is quiet for a moment. “Stiles is. . . special,” he says, and his expression turns downright villainous. “I don’t know if you, uh-hem, _noticed_.”

His words are full of suggestion that Derek can’t, however much he wants to, deny. He’s growling before he can stop himself.

“Calm down, Derek,” his uncle chastises, relaxing in his seat and merely glancing at him. “I don’t judge you for taking advantage of the boy, and really, I’m only trying to help.”

Derek ignores the jab, although it costs him. “I don’t want your help.”

“Ah-hah,” he corrects, “but you need it.”

“You haven’t even told me what _it_ is,” he snarls.

 _It’s the only thing you’ve got_ , a voice in Derek’s head echoes.

“I have. It’s a myth.”

Derek is done. Of course his uncle is only pulling his strings, wasting his time. “Very useful. That’s great. If you could get going now—”

“You are an Alpha, correct?”

Derek doesn’t answer him, waiting. Resisting the urge to rip his throat out. The power surge from biting Stiles still runs through his veins, and Peter has picked the wrong werewolf to string along uselessly tonight.

“Well, an Alpha’s power,” the man continues, “what allows him to be faster, stronger, incredibly more lethal – it can be pulled from. Leeched, to be more specific.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, and he suddenly feels like the stupid teenager sitting in the boys’ locker room after ball practice, asking his uncle’s advice.

“You have a pack of three and a half healthy, young betas, Derek. You are probably the most powerful you will ever be.” Peter states, and his words boost confidence in Derek in a most undesirable way. Hope, even.

But his uncle still isn’t being specific enough. He’s hiding something.

“Your point.”

“Pull from it. Sure, it might kill you, and Stiles might still not survive. But take that power and give it to the boy so that he at least has a chance. So that his body can either fight the infection off or embrace it fully.”

_If I die, who gets the Alpha power?_

Derek breathes deeply. He did this to Stiles. He has to face the consequences. His lies have caused this. This is on him. He’s the Alpha, like Peter said.

“And if it doesn’t work?” he asks, because it’s a point to consider. He’ll do it, of course he will. It’s not even a question, and that scares Derek. But if it doesn’t work, how will he save Stiles?

Peter ponders it, hand in his goatee. “Well, I’m sure we can threaten the Martin girl to give him a blood transfusion, but I highly doubt he’ll live in time for that.”

Derek is silent.

“So,” he asks finally, “What do I have to do?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So......  
> cliffhanger =)  
> As you can see, I've sort of jumbled season 3 stuff with this, so like, Stiles instead of Cora, but I'm still working out the logistics so dw about it. Anyway, hope you guys like it!  
> Comments and kudos are like breaths, so keep me alive guys <3  
> Have an awesome day!


End file.
